The Cross: One Shot, One Kill

I am Thap tu gia--the Cross.

Con Thien Village, Vietnam, 1964

My heart rate is slowing. My breathing is shallow but even. My finger is gentle on the cool metal trigger. There is a trickle of sweat above my brow, but my senses intensify to my surroundings. My body fills with a familiar sensation, like the arrival of a lost companion to comfort me. Now I feel complete.

As with each of my kills, I will leave a small wooden cross with a single strip of leather fastening the two sections. I leave i...